Friday, 30 June 1876

The thought of seeing my father again — that spiteful, irritable, prejudiced man, who has never been anything but impertinent with me, as I have been with him in return. Shall I succeed? Who knows? With God’s help.
That wretched Folon having again failed to come and take measurements for the mirrors, I had to go out — and once out, I consented to hear the beautiful music in the Gardens; especially as Messrs. Galula, Audiffret, and Gautier were all there. But my family had so often told me they had seen them without their having approached that I was expecting no one — when Galula came. I put on my agreeable air, for Danesi and Del Borgo — two married men, but two Italians — were behind our carriage. After a while, to my great astonishment, Gautier and Audiffret came to the carriage door. Audiffret — pale, stooped, tired, wretched. Having blushed before their arrival, I did not blush at the moment. My aunt asked the Surprising One* whether he knew Alexandre de Larderel. Why yes, of course! They spoke of this eccentric young man; I spoke of his complexion, so beautiful and so pale.
I felt my face rested and pretty too — I conducted myself simply and with a great deal of grace, which rarely happened to me in the presence of the wretch who will rot. I addressed myself for the most part to the handsome Gautier, to the illustrious Pepino who has grown a beard like a monkey. Besides, we and these gentlemen seemed rather ill at ease, like people who do not know on what terms they stand with one another. What a pity that neither Collignon nor the Sapogenikoffs were there — they would have died of envy. Indeed, the civility of these cads was an enviable good fortune.
Gautier did nothing but discover little beasts on our dresses and brush them away, while Audiffret made witticisms about “the young man with ants.” — Good Lord, my aunt said, flicking one of these insects from her ribbon, how many beasts there are this evening! — Do you hear? said Audiffret with a laugh — that is aimed at us. — Yes, said Gautier, pressing his lips together — there are a great many beasts; there is nothing else.
But my aunt was no longer listening; they were talking of my departure. It was getting late, and I asked whether it was not time for dinner, to give these people a pretext for leaving — but they did nothing of the kind, and stayed so long that we dined at eight o’clock.
As Maman had held out her hand to the Surprising One*, I too held out mine, mechanically, smiling to feel my hand being shaken after all that charming convent-school correspondence.
I do not know whether I have mentioned that in Rome I hit on the idea of marrying Gautier to Lola; and this evening I told Gautier that I knew a charming brunette, etc., etc.
— Do give me your portrait, I said as we were leaving; I shall hand it to her.
— You may bring it to us when you call tomorrow evening, said Maman, loudly enough to be heard by the Surprising One*.
Ah! the poor man — he is less handsome than Antonelli; he stoops too much, whereas Pietro holds himself a little too straight.
But there is a young Neapolitan in Nice, a friend of Massa’s, the Count of Balzorano. Audiffret knows Pandola! That creature knows everyone; he was even acquainted with Prince Leopold of England when the Prince passed through Nice. He played with him and took him to the Cercle. So there are lucky rascals on this earth.
— You know, I said to him, I have a rose to give you from Olga — only I think I have lost it.
— What, Mademoiselle, grimaced Girofla*, and you have not given it to me? Ah, but I set great store by it — so that is how you carry out your errands!
— That one would be hard to carry out, said Maman; we have not seen you.
I thought he would be embarrassed, but on the contrary he took on his mock-serious tone.
— But Madame, you had only to come over there.
— Where?
— Over there, at the Tower.
Once I would have said: “What an idea!” or: “What nonsense!” Now I simply say:
— Tomorrow, Monsieur, I shall present myself at your house.
— Mademoiselle, I shall not stir.
Maman and my aunt already see a whole new romance in it; as for me, I do not even give it a thought. I only hope this man will have sense enough not to call — I would have him swept out, on my word of honour.
No, he is not the one on my mind. I am seventeen and a half! And nothing yet! If Pius IX were to die, at least one would know where one stood.
This Mastaï Ferretti is hard to kill. Oh! no, poor old man.
I pity old people, especially since [Grand]papa has gone completely blind — I am so sorry for him!
Today I had to guide him on the stairs and feed him myself. He is ashamed, because of that kind of vanity that makes him always want to appear young, and it had to be done with such tact; in fact, he accepted my help gratefully, for I had offered it with a brusque insistence mingled with tenderness that one cannot resist.
Russia! I like to imagine that Antonelli will come to Nice and no longer find me here. He must have received Walitsky’s letter today.
Ah, now — does he really love me?
Thanks to the severity of the Russian censorship, which lets no book into the country without examining it first, I am forced to leave my journal here. That is a painful separation. I shall be leaving half of myself behind, but there is nothing to be done.

Notes

In Italian and Latin in the original: Chi lo sa ? Deo juvante. ↩
The Jardin Public (public gardens) in Nice, where a band performed during the summer evenings — a fashionable meeting place. ↩
In Marie’s French: il a même été connu avec [sic] le prince Léopold d’Angleterre; the [sic] stands after avec in the printed text. ↩